


The Seventh Voyage

by LockDaisy



Category: One Piece
Genre: Action/Adventure, Gen, One Piece IN SPAAAAACE, Science Fiction
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-07
Updated: 2013-05-17
Packaged: 2017-12-07 18:05:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 19,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/751451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LockDaisy/pseuds/LockDaisy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Law and the rest of his fellow Heart Pirates used to be nothing but freelance handymen, traversing through the treacherous region of space known as the Grand Line to do some odd jobs here and there. But then, they fall into a whirlwind series of adventures that they never expected. </p>
<p>And on the way, the Heart Pirates will change the universe irreversibly, for better or worse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: One Piece does not belong to me. It belongs ngs to Eichiro Oda and Toei Animation.

The Seventh Voyage  
Arc 1: Recruitment Arc

Chapter 1: Desperate Measures

There wasn’t much to do. Law drummed his fingers listlessly against the windowsill, gazing sightlessly through the glass. Beyond the blurred distortions his fingerprint smudges made, he could vaguely make out nondescript shapes of drifting meteors, as well as a few twinkling stars. Normally, it would be a soothing image- the serene backdrop of the vast expanse of space, the meteors that floated past serving as an effective replacement for counting sheep. It usually lulled him to sleep, but he was currently drenched in the unfortunate combination of restless frustration and interminable boredom. He sighed, flopping down onto the bed, the springs creaking in response. Hazily, he made a mental note to get Bepo to grease down the springs later; it would do him no good to worsen his already severe sleep deprivation by sleeping on a bed that squealed with every shift in position. He knuckled his eyes, bright orbs twirling around in his vision. The dark bags beneath his eyes were more prominent than ever, practically a shade of black rather than a darker pigmentation of his skin tone. Although he spent several sleepless months working on the same problem, he still wasn’t any closer to reaching a feasible solution. 

And it was starting to take a toll on him. He felt groggy and disoriented, eyes burning hot with the desire to sleep. His wit deteriorated, and his vast arsenal of knowledge became hugely diminished, struggling with memorizing things for even the shortest periods of time. Currently, he was taking a ‘productive distancing’ from the problem at hand in order to refresh his mind so he could approach it from a different angle, but it did no good since even now, when he was meant to relax, his thoughts still circulated around the problem. He tried hacking off the blunter edge of his boredom by leafing through some of his favorite books, but perusing through the same texts over and over became inordinately tedious, even though he enjoyed them. He tried simply lounging, but then he found that his mind would always wander back to the portion of his conscious that was still latched onto the predicament. And he couldn’t exactly chat with his crewmates considering that they still had their jobs to do, and pestering them would help nothing in the long run. All in all, the main trouble of being a captain was that, besides in cases of crisis, there simply wasn’t that much to do.

So there really was nothing for him to accomplish but to continue sketching up plans. But even that option was denied to him- at least, if he wanted to actually make any meaningful progress, since in his current mindset he could only come up with either redundant or repetitive solutions, especially with his lack of knowledge. And creating a plan based on assumptions was like building a house with wisps of straw- weak, and without the sturdy, cement-like support of fact, it would inevitably collapse in on itself. And he refused to lead his crew on any plan that was less than sound. 

He got up, stretching his limbs. There was a satisfying pop as his joints cracked back into place and he yawned, wiping away at the traces of sleep in his eyes with his sleeves. He might as well check to see if breakfast was ready yet. It seemed like the best option at this point.

He slipped on his shoes, smoothing the crinkles out of his clothing as he shuffled out the door. After the relative darkness of his room, the sudden light came as a shock. He squinted as his vision adjusted, trudging towards a room whose directions were long since ingrained into Law’s feet. The dining room was a simple affair, with a long table stretching down the center and a tasteful chandelier dangling from the ceiling. With its plain floors and walls, there wasn’t much regality, but the atmosphere was generally warm and snug, more a place for laughter than cold debate. He plopped himself into a plush seat at the head of the table, widening the distance between his legs, back slouching. It wasn’t a particularly attractive pose, but it was comfortable, and that was all Law was concerned with at the moment. A scent from the kitchen wafted into the room, carrying itself to Law’s nose. He took a deep whiff, a small smile forming in contentment. Just like all of Shachi’s dishes, breakfast smelled hearty and delicious, and he could feel himself salivating at the mere smell. Heavy footsteps approached, and he lifted his head just in time to see Jean Bart seating himself across from him. “Good morning,” he smiled, tipping his head in greeting.

Jean Bart grunted, and Law could smell a faint hint of sweat beneath the sharp scent of soap. He must’ve just come out of the gym’s shower, since the one communal bathroom that the ship had was empty when he passed by it, the door gaping open and the lights switched off. “It’s a bit late to call this morning, don’t you think?”

“I suppose,” Law chuckled, a low glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “But in all honesty, in space, there should really be no concept as morning. Because here, the sun always shines, regardless of the time. Honestly, after spending more than half your life in space, I'd assume that concepts such as night and day would be foreign to you. ”

“I guess,” Jean Bart shrugged airily, and he leaned back, his head squishing against the cushion of the seat. “I’m never one to combat over specifics.”

“And yet you were not the least bit hesitant to call me out on saying that it was morning, were you?” Law couldn’t help but snipe back, his perpetually cryptic smile playing at his lips. “A bit hypocritical, don’t you think?”

“I was simply making conversation,” Jean Bart countered, arms crossing resolutely. “This has been an entirely slow week for us, so I believed that you could use the entertainment.”

“Excuses, excuses,” Law chided, but there was a playful lilt to his voice. “I can’t help but believe that your days as a captain are rearing their head. You’re becoming awfully argumentative.”

Jean Bart barked out a laugh. “I’ll concede to that, captain.” His eyes hooded over as images, faded from a time long past, flickered in his mind. “Old habits die hard, I suppose,” he mused.

Law made a sound of agreement. “I can only imagine.” And he really only could. Jean Bart’s face softened with a wistful sort of nostalgia, fond memories- not better than the experiences he was having now, just different- filtering through his head. Law decided to say nothing, aware that the man was reminiscing over a time not shared between them, and they lapsed into a comfortable silence, both of them absorbed in their own thoughts. From the kitchen, the telltale sizzle of frying food and clanging pans punctuated the silence that stretched between them. It was only around a full minute later that Jean Bart stood up, heading towards the kitchen. Law’s gaze trailed after him as the door swung shut. There was the sound of a short, amiable conversation being exchanged before Jean Bart entered the dining room again, hefting a cloth sack over his shoulder while he carried a mug of milk in his other hand. He tossed the sack onto the table, where it landed with a thud. Law’s eyes flitted over to the bag, and he couldn’t help but tut in mild disapproval. “Do we necessarily have to buy whey protein?” he asked, a note of exasperation in his voice. “Or were there any cheaper brands, at least? This just seems a bit pricey…”

Jean Bart settled into his seat, pursing his lips. “Of this kind, no.”

Law jutted out his lower lip in a semi-pout. “Can’t you buy a different type then?” He couldn’t help but be wary; they already spent a huge sum of money on groceries, buying actual vegetables, fruits, and animal products instead of the much more widespread and cheaper nutrient packets that people inhaled instead of meals. It was their universal preference for actual food that led to this choice in groceries, but none of them could deny the fact that it cost them much more than if they just bought the packets instead.

Jean Bart gave a clipped scoff. “Not if you want me to remain your main muscle, no. Look, that was the only place in the entire goddamn Grand Line that sells whey protein, which is-“

“The most soluble protein and the one that’s the easiest for the body to digest, I know,” Law interrupted, waving away any residual protests hanging on his crewmate’s tongue. “Please don’t lecture me in a subject that I’m well-versed in. It’s patronizing.” 

“Never took you much for a nutritionist,” Jean Bart grunted, lifting an eyebrow inquisitively.

There were traces of something that could be interpreted as sly peeking out from Law’s ambiguous slip of a smile. “Well, I’m just full of surprises. I’ve dabbled in a little bit of everything. But seriously, couldn’t you even attempt to buy something that wouldn’t put such a dent in our budgets?” But inwardly, he did own up to the fact that it was nice having Jean Bart in his crew, especially as the role of the main muscle. The man, formerly a captain, knew his way around a ship and had plenty of experience, and Law quickly realized that it was highly advantageous to have him around on expeditions. Their business spots tended to be sleazy areas where it was just as likely to step into a pool of blood as a puddle, and their general clientele typically were affluent men who gained their fortunes through less than savory means. While Jean Bart wasn’t the best fighter aboard the ship- that honor was reserved for Law and Law alone- he did have more of a visual impact, and Law learned that most people didn’t normally want to have a scuffle with a man who looked like he could displace a continent if he so much as flexed a bicep. And they especially didn’t want to mess with Law, since they figured, correctly, that they probably shouldn’t bother the guy who had huge, imposing men like Jean Bart pledging loyalty to him. So, all in all, Jean Bart’s presence was greatly appreciated, and Law would gladly let him buy whatever protein he wanted if it would ensure that he maintained his current level of effectiveness. It didn’t mean that he wouldn’t go down without a fight, though.

“Like you have much room to talk Captain!” Jean Bart retorted. “Considering the fact that you buy pounds and pounds of that ridiculously expensive coffee.”

Law’s eyes narrowed at the jab at his choice in coffee, and he hugged the bag of java to his chest protectively. “Hey now, that’s unfair,” Law protested, “I need this coffee.”

“Ultra-Super-Premium bean coffee blend?” he grumbled skeptically. “I doubt you really need that particular brand.” And there was definitely a vindictive edge in his tone, still a bit bitter over his choices in protein being discouraged.

“That depends on whether or not you want a happy captain or a vengeful captain,” Law muttered, eyeing the three empty spots at the table. “And on another note, where are the others? I know that Shachi’s cooking breakfast, but what about Penguin and Bepo? It’s disheartening to have a meal without the sight of them stuffing their faces.”

Jean Bart shrugged. “Penguin’s probably working on those maps of his, and the last time I saw Bepo, he was tinkering around in the boiler room.”

Law’s brows knitted together. “The boiling room…?” His voice trailed off, face muscles tightening as threads of agitation wove through them. Bepo had been spending an alarmingly increasing amount of time in there, and the weighty implications that that held were unsettling to say the least. “Why? Is there something wrong there?”

Jean Bart caught the subtle undertone in Law’s voice, and his face darkened, huge frame tensing. “I honestly don’t know,” he admitted, his gaze fixing itself to a nondescript area in the wall. “Bepo wouldn’t tell me any details, insisting that nothing was wrong.”

Law frowned. “Well, that’s no good. The next time you see him, tell him to come to me. I don’t like not knowing what’s going on in the ship. You know as well as I do how important it is for the captain to know the affairs of his ship.”

 

Jean Bart nodded, and they both raised their heads simultaneously when they heard footsteps approaching. Penguin smiled at them from the entrance, his face and hands smeared with dark streaks of ink. “Hey guys,” he chirped, beaming at them brightly. “What’s going on?”

“Not much,” Law replied, fingernails clicking as they tapped against the table in a gesture of impatience. “Just waiting for breakfast to be ready.”

“Ah,” Penguin said, and he dropped himself into a seat next to Law. “I just thought I’d ask since you two seemed so grim when I came in.”

“Ah, about that, we wanted to talk to you about-“ Law stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. “What are you doing?” He demanded, nose crinkling in disgust.

“Huh?” Penguin blinked, startled at the sudden outburst. 

“Ugh, you’re filthy!” Law made a face, waving him away with a shooing motion. “Go, just- just go and clean up before you sit at the table, ok?”

“Hey!” Penguin frowned sharply, bristling at the edges. “That’s not fair! You eat at the table when you’re soaked with blood! This is just ink!” He rolled back a sleeve, revealing another splotch of ink decorating his inner wrist. “Ink!”

Law slammed a hand against the table. “Well, I have an excuse,” he argued, “I’m the captain, and the properties of blood does wonders for my complexion! Ink, on the other hand, does nothing for the skin.”

“Come on,” Penguin rolled his eyes in exasperation, “that’s not fair no matter how you look at it. You’re just using your role as captain to your advantage. So blood is okay but ink isn’t? You really are just being hypocritical now, Captain.” He lifted his eyebrow expectantly, waiting for the inevitable rebuttal. 

A sudden, crafty smile stretched across Law’s lips. “Quit your griping,” he ordered, voice even and well modulated. “I’m only telling you this for your own sake, since ladies like men that are clean.” Penguin fell completely silent at that, jaw frozen in an aborted attempt to voice a protest. Law took this as a sign of encouragement and continued, a seductive dip in his voice. “So, if we ever bring a woman onto the ship, I’m just giving you advice to increase your chances of climbing into her heart.” He coughed, using his hand to obscure the stealthy quirk of his lips. “As well as other areas.”

Penguin stilled, the soul of a complaint dying in his throat. There was a moment of silence as he stared down at the floor, shivering. Then he squealed in excitement, pumping at the air with his fists. “Captain!” he exclaimed, “I’ll follow you wherever!”

Jean Bart observed Penguin blankly. “That’s a complete one-eighty,” he commented drily. He paused, realizing something. He whipped his head towards Law. “And what you said was completely irrelevant!”

There was a conspiratorial gleam in Law’s eye. “Of course it was relevant. After all,” he glimpsed at Penguin, who was still gushing praises, from his peripheral vision, “I would never use an impromptu speech to exploit easily swayed individuals now, would I?”

Jean Bart simply stared at him. “You’re devious,” he breathed, although his voice was awed. “You’re honest-to-god devious.”

Law waved away the comments dismissively, although he seemed to be pleased from the words. “Such harsh words to describe my concern.”

Jean Bart snorted. “I didn’t use any euphemisms. I tell it how it is.” He shot a glance at Penguin, who was currently mucking around in a sea of his own imagination, a euphoric expression plastered on his face as a stream of saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth. “But it’s worrying how easily he’s manipulated.”

Something pensive crept over Law’s face, and he rubbed his chin absently in thought. “That is a good point,” he muttered, analyzing Penguin’s vacant face. “While I do not doubt their loyalty, there is the worrying notion of just how easily their thought processes become diverted at the mere mention of women-”

“Did you say women?” a voice called out, and they turned their heads just in time to see Shachi kick open the door, the hinges squealing in response. He beamed, trays stacked with steaming plates of food balanced precariously on his arms. 

Penguin opened his mouth to answer, but Jean Bart beat him to it, clapping a thick hand over his crewmate’s mouth. “No, you misheard,” he replied, trying to surreptitiously angle the crevices of his fingers away from the spittle flying from Penguin’s muffled voice. “We were talking about something else.”

Shachi’s lips quirked downward. “Too bad,” he moaned, and it seemed like every feature on his face was yanked down by a string. “I really would like to see a pretty lady. We haven’t encountered one in so long…”

Law couldn’t help the smile fanning out across his lips. “Oh, just set the table, you dope. We’re all hungry.” 

Shachi sighed with the weariness of a martyr. “Nobody appreciates me,” he moaned, shaking his head. “But I’ll do what you say anyway, just because I’m so loyal to you.” He sauntered over, tossing the plates onto the cloth placemats much like how a person would throw a Frisbee, the bottoms of them barely skimming the surface of the wood before landing safely onto their proper positions. He sent them a lopsided grin, quirking his eyebrows expectantly. “Well? What are you guys waiting for? Dig in!”

Without a further moment of hesitation, Penguin hurled himself into a seat beside Law, and Shachi pulled out a seat to the left of him. Jean Bart had the sense of mind to pause, a spoon suspended halfway between his plate and mouth. “What about Bepo...?” he asked, uncertain. He didn’t want to prolong the amount of time until they all ate, but something about the fact that one of their crewmates wasn’t there gnawed at his core. Shachi and Penguin also paused as the revelation trickled through their brains, a niggling worm of guilt writhing in their guts. 

Law smiled in detached amusement. “It’s fine,” he reassured them, procuring a teacup seemingly out of thin air. “If Bepo decided to come to breakfast late, I see no point in torturing ourselves over his misbehavior. Go ahead and eat. He can just heat up his breakfast and have it later.”

They all nodded, secretly relieved that they didn’t have to wait. All of them, save for Law, began shoveling in blindly, sighing in contentment. Due to the overabundance of time that they had, Shachi decided to spend more time sprucing up the meals than he usually did, adding additional dashes of flavor and spritzing up their appearances. Little colorful umbrellas cruised through fruity smoothies, and Law’s daily coffee sported a swirly design of Shachi winking at him, composed by stirring the frothy foam that had accumulated at the top. Sprigs of parsley were sprinkled liberally over glistening eggs, accompanied by the golden hash brown that edged the curve of their plates and bacon that still sizzled. They all tore into their food ravenously, smiling in contentment as the various flavors meshed together in their mouths. Penguin and Shachi crammed as much food as they could in their faces, to the point that they sputtered crumbs whenever they shoved another forkful into their mouths. Jean Bart sipped from his mug of milk, already heavily infused with whey. The only person not eating was Law, who was scrutinizing an extremely offensive sight that somehow had hidden itself among the heaping stacks of food.

“Bread?” Law made a face, poking at a loaf warily with the tines of his fork. “Shachi, what is this abomination doing here?”

Shachi’s face turned stormy, and he chucked his fork at the table, where it landed with a clatter. “Honestly, Captain?” he whined, and he resisted the urge to tug his hair out by the roots. “You are way too picky with your food! If you don’t want to eat it, just don’t eat it!”

“It’s still unpleasant to look at it,” Law muttered, eyeing the basket of bread in distaste, as if its contents would leap out and somehow give them all cholera. “It is my personal belief that it isn’t a coincidence that in the ancient French language they referred to bread as ‘pain.’”

Penguin groaned, driving the heel of his palm into his forehead. “There he goes again,” he rolled his eyes, “spouting off some sort of intellectual linguistic crap that none of us can understand.” All the others bit their lips to restrain their laughter, although it was extremely obvious what they were thinking by the huge grins on their faces.

Law braced himself for a lengthy debate. “French is not that hard of a concept to understand,” he spoke calmly, in a measured tone. “A romance language, along with others such as Spanish and Italian, its origins can be traced back to Latin-“

“The hell is Latin?” Shachi asked, screwing up his face exaggeratedly. “Look, captain, whatever medical stuff they taught you, it’s weird, all right? As far as basically all of us are concerned, we only know the language of the Capital- you know, the one that the universe has been using for thousands of years.”

“I suppose that it has slipped past Law’s mind, is all,” Jean Bart chimed in, seizing the opportunity for revenge as it presented itself. “Considering that he lets the important things float through his mind while dwelling on more… inane matters.”

Law’s eyes narrowed. That sneaky little… “Well,” Law began, raising his head and sending them all imperious stares. “I personally believe that knowledge is power. It is a fundamental concept that all of us should both understand and acknowledge. Wars aren’t decided by brute force alone, but more by tactics and the quality of their information. That’s exactly the reason why we need to know things- like who are enemies are and what their weaknesses might be, no matter how unexpected.”

Shachi snorted. “So we’re going to defeat our enemy using Latin?”

Law gave him a sidelong glance. “The chances of that happening are greater than zero,” he said simply, expression unchanging. Everyone else gave him dubious glances, disbelief etched across their faces.

“Sure, alright,” Penguin decided to indulge Law, just this once, since he obviously wasn’t in his right mind. “How does this French thing work anyway?” he asked, evaluating ways to switch the topic to something less confusing and abstract as ancient linguistics.

Law paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. “It’s been a while since I’ve read up on the more intrinsic aspects of French, but I do recall some things about it.” He closed his eyes, trying to replay the images of long nights spent flipping pages through his mind. “You don’t pronounce the last consonants,” he began tentatively, “in most cases, its declarative word order is subject-verb-object, and it has two grammatical genders.”

“Two grammatical genders?” Jean Bart inquired, intrigued despite himself.

“Yes, meaning that all nouns, including objects, are either feminine or masculine,” Law explained, clasping his hands gingerly beneath his head. “And that includes objects.”

Shachi’s eyebrows shot up, disappearing beneath the brim of his hat. “You expect me to believe that objects can be sexed?” he chuckled skeptically. “Like, what? Are you asking me to believe that- that something like this table can have a gender?” He asked, indicated the table with an unnecessary motion.

Law nodded. “Precisely. In fact, I believe that in French, they refer to tables as ‘la table’, which reveals to us that it is a feminine noun.”

Penguin chuffed out a snort, shooting Law a disbelieving look. “Look, maybe you don’t completely get the concept. I mean, how can a table be a girl? It’s an inanimate object. It’s not like it has ovaries or can give birth or anything.”

"Regardless of the physical aspects of the object," Law plowed on, shooting Penguin a pointed look. "There are certain things that just are. In French, whether or not the nouns are possessed by objects or beings that are capable of living and having enough conscious thought to determine complex sociological themes such as gender, they are labeled with a masculine or feminine article."

“I suppose it depends on how you look at things,” Jean Bart mused. “After the Grand Line division of the universe was formed, some of the civilizations that cropped up believed that every single thing- living or not- had a soul, and so taking more than what was necessary from the planet was considered absolutely reprehensible.”

Penguin leaned on his forearms. “So this is more of a cultural thing, then?” he asked, mind rerunning the information. Shachi was listening to the conversation with interest now, raising his hat a couple of centimeters so that his ears wouldn’t be obstructed. “Hey, Captain, were the French those soul people, then?”

Law opened his mouth, but they never got to hear the answer. Whatever he was about to say got interrupted by a thunderous explosion, one that shook the foundations of the ship and made the very air quake around them. Plates fell to the floor, shattering, and Penguin yelped, toppling out of his chair while one of the vibrations hurled Shachi across the room to smack into the wall. “What’s happening!?” Jean Bart shouted, clutching at the table firmly to maintain his balance while it skidded across the room. Law scowled, the soles of his shoes scraping across the floor while he struggled to gain purchase and to not careen headfirst into the floor. The shaking settled down what seemed like an eternity later, leaving the dining room in a state of complete disarray. Several chairs were upturned, clods of dust swirling through the air. Their meals were suctioned to the ceilings, having been tossed up there during some of the more violent tremors. Shachi groaned, laying slumped against the wall while Penguin lay scrambled in a mixture of tangled limbs, twisted like a pretzel. Jean Bart and Law scowled, picking themselves off the ground, brushing off the crumbled bits of debris from their jeans. 

“Is everybody okay?” Shachi wheezed, gripping the leg of a chair as an anchor as he lifted himself up, his free hand stroking the bruise on his stomach comfortingly. There was a chorus of pained grunts as their answer, and Shachi grumbled, “Well, I’m assuming by your eloquent answers that you’re all okay.”

“Oh, stuff it, Shachi,” Penguin ground out, beginning the laborious process of easing his leg out from between the crook of his intertwined arm and neck. “Do any of us know what the hell just happened? I have absolutely no clue, but I sure as hell know that-” He cut himself short, eyes widening in horror. Seconds later, the rest of the crew understood what he meant, and the blood in their veins immediately turned to ice. While the effects of the explosion were devastating in the room, it was still merely nothing but a shockwave. Distantly, throughout the entire ordeal, they were subconsciously aware of the fact that the shockwaves arrived from the east of the ship, which meant that… Shachi let out a garbled noise of pure terror, his stomach leaping into his throat.

The epicenter of the explosion came from the boiler room.

“BEPO!!” They screamed, staggering to their feet. By that point, Law had already vaulted over the table, making a mad dash for the boiler room. He was halfway to the door before it burst open, and Bepo stumbled into the room, coughing wildly. 

“Bepo!” Law raced towards him, face ashy with concern. He slung a supporting arm around his shoulders, steering him towards a wall before easing him down gently. “Are you alright? What happened?” The others dropped to their knees as soon as they reached them, faces pale with worry as they gripped him tightly. Law swatted those hands away. “Give the man space!” he barked, shooing them away. They seemed hesitant, hands poised indecisively, before Law skewered them with a glare that sent them skittering away. They watched the proceedings silently, the color drained from their faces as their hearts constricted in anxiety. Bepo continued hacking, expelling dark clouds of ash from his lungs in little puffs. Law swore, beckoning Jean Bart to keep hold of Bepo, keeping him parallel to the floor. He smacked Bepo’s back, and he gurgled up gobs of murky saliva. He continued the process for a bit, until he heaved out a final heaping of murky air from his lungs, and they rolled him over as he gasped for air, sucking in deep, greedy gulps. 

The others approached instinctively, and this time, Law let them, stepping off to the side to allow them to pester Bepo to their heart’s content. “What happened?” Jean Bart demanded, grasping Bepo’s shoulders in a grip that was just short of bruising. 

“We were so worried,” Shachi whispered, voice reedy and thin from repressed emotion. He wrapped his arms around Bepo in an awkward, but firm hug. “We thought that you might’ve been blown up along with the boiler room!” 

Bepo held up a hand, signaling them to stop. A silence stretched by in agitated silence, waiting impatiently as Bepo regained his voice. “I’m okay,” he croaked, voice cracking with a grating rasp. “I wasn’t in the boiler room when the explosion happened. I was actually just heading off here to have breakfast, and then everything went wrong from there.” He coughed again, a gagging fit that made most of them wince in sympathy.

Law slid in beside him, gripping his face and turning it so that he would face Law. “You’re not off the hook yet,” he warned, but his tone was soft and it quavered. “I still have to make sure that we got the worst of the contaminants from your system.”

Bepo chuckled hoarsely. “Aye aye, captain! Leave it all to me!” And despite themselves, they couldn’t help but chuckle fondly at his blind enthusiasm. Even though their ceiling was crumbling and the air was thick with dust, and even though Bepo was so completely caked in dirt and soot that his naturally albino features were totally concealed, they couldn’t help but find a glimmer of reassurance from the familiarity of it. 

“What about the boiler room?” Penguin asked, and the nearly buoyant sense of optimism that began to swell in the room evaporated entirely. 

Bepo’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes turned downcast. “I…I honestly don’t know,” he admitted, and his entire frame sagged with each consecutive word of his confession. “By the time the explosion happened, the only thing on my mind was to get to safety, so I didn’t get the idea to check on the engines until now… I’m sorry.”

Penguin patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry about it, man. We’re just glad you’re here.” All the others provided affirming nods, and it brightened up Bepo’s disposition significantly, a touched smile gracing his face.

Law’s expression remained serious, grooves of thought carving his forehead. “While we’re all glad that you’re safe, we still have to know the state of our engines. Would you be able to check in on them now?”

Bepo frowned. “No. I don’t think so. The last time I checked, the hallways were flooded with smoke.”

Shachi interjected, voice pleading. “Look, guys, don’t worry! Seriously! I can just dash inside, take a few photos on the telecommunicator, and then come back. If I go now, I can-”

“Absolutely not,” Law cut in, voice hard. “We have no idea what the explosions might’ve been loaded with. For all we know, the air could be filled with all sorts of carcinogens.”

“Seriously, Shachi,” Penguin frowned, “Don’t say such stupid things.”

“Then at least let me get rid of the bad air! I’ll put on the depressurization suit and open up the hatch. We should still have enough oxygen in our tanks that it won’t completely deplete our supplies.”

Law thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “That sounds like a good idea. Just make sure that your depressurization suit is sealed completely, and make sure to put the rest of the rooms on lockdown.”

“Aye aye, Captain!” Shachi saluted him, before speeding off to the adjoining room to get the suit. 

He turned to the rest of them. “Penguin, as soon as the purge is completed, get the maps and find the planets that are closest to us. If our circumstances become not so fortuitous, it’d be good to have a place that we can crash.” Penguin nodded solemnly, and the key to the map room jangled in his pocket. “Jean Bart, get to the helm. Run a scan to detect any remaining bombs, and be ready to fly us out of here if it turns out that we don’t have much time. And you, Bepo, check the state of our engines and relay their conditions back to me.”

They nodded, and it was then that the defensive system of the ship kicked in, a metal shield dropping down from the bottom of the doors to cover the opening slot. They glanced at each other, shielding their ears in a practice that had long since become instinctual as there was a great, loud whooshing sound, like air being sucked through a straw. It was so loud and strong that it felt like their organs were being sucked through their ears. It finally ended, leaving behind a roaring silence. The metal rose back to their previous positions, and they all rushed off to do their respective jobs.

Law stayed behind, gazing at the lot of them as they disappeared behind a corner. He pulled out a chair that hadn’t been completely obliterated and he sank into it, waves of weariness washing over him. He didn’t want to mention this to the others, not yet, but he had an inkling of a plan formulating in the dregs of his mind. It was certainly not… optimal, though. Not at all. He thumbed the hem of his shirt apprehensively, rubbing the fabric so many times that he felt it wearing down beneath his fingers, an acidic lump curdling in the pit of his stomach. Hopefully, they wouldn’t have to resort to that, but still… he lifted his head, and there was a sort of heavy tension infused with the air, weighing down every molecule. If it came down to it, if it was the only way to salvage the situation, he’d do it. He absolutely would.

 

When they returned, they could only deliver dire news. Bepo gulped, legs shuffling nervously. “It seems whoever did this laid the bombs so that they would go off in a chain reaction, so they managed to severely damage lots of our main machinery.”

“Is any of it repairable?” Jean Bart asked, voice crackling over the intercom. He was currently seated at the helm, fiddling around with several knobs and buttons on the main interface. He already refreshed the screen several times, confirming that there were no other bombs in the area.

Bepo chewed his lip to a bloody pulp. “No. I’d say that the engines have about two more weeks in them, if we’re lucky, before they blow.”

The declaration was met with tense silence, an odd, unpleasant weightlessness flooding their senses, as if the bottoms simply vanished, their inner dimensions spilling out of them and leaving them empty and bare. 

Shachi punched the wall. “Damn it,” he hissed tightly. “Damn whoever did this to us to hell!”

“Calm down, Shachi,” Law ordered smoothly, hands absentmindedly tracing the grooves on the arm of his chair. “We’ll find a way to get past this. Penguin, how far are the nearest planets?”

Everyone gave him a fleeting look of anticipation, hope mounting in their hearts. Penguin felt something wither in his heart, gulping. “I... I’m sorry. The nearest planet is four months away. There’s no way we’d be able to reach it, even if we used hyperdrive.” And just like that, all wisps of optimism were shredded away.

The room became gravely silent, quiet except for the eerie crackling of the intercom. “Shachi… how much food do we have left?” Law asked, twirling a loose thread from the upholstery.

“Why?” Shachi asked, eyes glazed. “No matter how you look at it, if there are no planets nearby, what’s the point? Even if we conserve the food, at some point the oxygen tanks will run out, and then we’ll die of suffocation.” He laughed hysterically, a discordant, jangled noise that dragged serrated knives over their frayed nerves. “So it’s either starvation or suffocation, huh? I guess we’ll just have to pick and choose! But I guess I’m fine with either as long as I get to go out with you guys!”

“Oh, quit it with your melodrama!” Law snapped, the thread of control he had within him pulling taut. “I have a plan.”

Everyone’s head shot up. “Really!” they demanded, the light returning to their eyes. “Why the hell didn’t you-“

“I’ll tell you all if you be quiet,” Law growled, and they fell silent. He took a deep breath, exhaustion flooding every corner of his mind. “First of all, I would like to apologize.” Before they could protest, he speared them with a look that suggested that they should stay silent. They stilled at the unspoken command, instead clenching their fists. “After a while of thinking about it, I realized that the only people who could’ve done this without us noticing are the Libra Pirates. Back on Venerius, it was either when we were doing negotiations or when we left to do the job they paid us to do, it was then that, for whatever reason, those treacherous fuckers must’ve planted the bombs on our ship. We probably let it slip that we were searching for him, so they knew that we were going to be spending a lot more time in space than usual, so they decided to take that chance to betray us. I should’ve never allowed those bastards to be our clients.”

“Idiot!” Jean Bart’s distorted voice ran over the intercom. “We aren’t the richest people, you know! And with funds so low, it would’ve been suicide if you hadn’t taken them in as clients! How in the world could’ve you known?”

“Yeah!” Penguin added, crossing his arms and glowering. “Don’t hold yourself in such high esteem! Do you really think that you’re the only one with any reasoning skills? If anything, we should’ve noticed too!” Shachi and Bepo nodded vigorously, chastising their captain with silent glares.

Law stopped momentarily, his movements halting. Then, he lowered his hat over his eyes, a smile stretching over his lips. “You’re all idiots,” he murmured fondly. “My entire crew is just a huge bunch of idiots.”

“Whether we’re idiots or geniuses, it doesn’t matter,” Shachi shrugged. “Because we’re going to survive. You said you had a plan, right?” Law nodded, and they all leaned in expectantly. He gazed at them, and for the first time in a long while, a true ripple of unease quivered through his veins. He internally debated for good, long seconds, and he could sense his crewmate’s growing worry. He sighed, deciding it’d be the best to come out with it. “We’re going to dock at the nearest planet.”

“But how!” Penguin protested, leaping forward. “I just told you, all of the nearest planets are way too far for us to reach! We’d be dead long before the Mendota even manages to stray past their orbit!”

“There is one,” Law locked gazes with all of them, allowing them to read his intentions fully, “that isn’t on the maps. However, everyone in the Grand Line, even the biggest of fools, knows where it is.”

All their eyes bugged out of their skulls, and Penguin collapsed with a gurgling sound, feeling like someone was stirring the contents of his heart with a shard of glass. “You-You can’t mean-!” he gasped. Everyone else stared at Law in utter disbelief.

“Be quiet, you fools!” Jean Bart spoke harshly, even though his heart seized with dread. “I’m absolutely sure that Law would never even have considered this unless it was an absolute last resort. But are you sure that you want to do this? Is there really no other option?” The others stared at Law, and the hammering of their hearts would’ve been audible to even deaf ears.

Law lifted his head, and found all his crewmates gazing at him. “I understand that all of you are wary. But do any of you oppose the plan?” he asked simply.

There was a long pause as his crewmates tried to gather as much air as possible into their lungs, and despite himself, Law could feel his palms growing clammy with each consecutive second. Finally, after a long silence, Shachi spoke. “If you give the order for us to go there, we’ll follow it, Captain,” Shachi’s voice quivered, and he took a deep breath to regain a semblance of control. “It doesn’t matter how we feel. It’s just like what we promised when we joined the crew. We’ll follow you wherever.” They all nodded, gazing at him with burgeoning resolve. Although they feared what could happen, they believed they would pull through this. Now that their captain had a plan, he’d undoubtedly lead them to safety.

“Very well. Then prepare for departure. We’re setting sail tomorrow.” He strode off, already constructing the plans for tomorrow in his head. It seemed like their current objective had to be postponed. Oh well. He paused for a moment, calling over his shoulder before they scurried off to get to work. “And by the way, make sure to get a full night’s sleep. I want you to be fully prepared for anything tomorrow.” He turned around, a devilish smile beginning to pull at his lips at the prospect of adventure. Despite themselves, the excitement was contagious, and his crewmates began to feel their yearning for adventure overcome their fear, beaming all the while. “We are, after all, heading to Imago, the demon planet of the Grand Line!”

Author’s Notes: Well, here’s the start of it all! I’ve always wanted to write a really long, adventure sci-fi fic, so this makes me very happy! Hopefully I’ll be able to update more frequently, with summer coming along and all. And yes, I took some liberties with continuity, considering that Jean Bart is already here. But I simply wanted to include him in the group somehow, because whenever we see him he tends to play an integral part of the Heart Pirates. In any case, please tell me what you think! Constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated. Read and review.


	2. The City of Ponere Tortam

Disclaimer: One Piece does not belong to me. It belongs to Eichiro Oda and Toei Animation.

Warning: Some disturbing psychological implications and mentions of gore. I’ll try to keep it to a minimum, but still.

The Seventh Voyage  
Arc 1: Recruitment Arc  
Chapter 2: New Arrivals

 

Their first view of the city was a long, circular wall that seemed to run for miles. It stood out starkly from the rest of the landscape, which mostly consisted of barren wasteland; endlessly stretching deserts, dotted sparsely with windswept hills. There was not even the slightest hint of vegetation as far as they could tell, and two large, red suns beat down on them from overhead, in a green, cloudless sky. They contemplated the wall wordlessly, and even Bepo and Jean Bart had to tip their heads back, the base of their skulls brushing their upper vertebrae, and their gazes still couldn’t even skim the distant line in the sky that represented the top.

Shachi whistled, a low, trilling sound. “Daaaamn. That’s one huge wall. Paranoid much?”

Penguin exhaled an astonished breath through his nostrils, eyebrows shooting up to his hairline. “I’ll have to agree with Shachi on this one,” he said, sounding awed. He adjusted the flaps of his hat to form a makeshift visor to protect him from the harsh glare of the suns, squinting his eyes to try to gauge its height more accurately. “Are you sure that you conducted the sweep properly? I mean, how can this place not have a single sentry guarding its orbit? Not even a single vagabond sentry? It just seems a bit dumb that they would build this ridiculous wall and not even fortify the orbit properly. If I were the Marines, I would have sentries crawling absolutely everywhere.”

“We scanned the entire orbital vicinity several times,” Law reassured him, his cool voice detached from the suffocating heat. “We couldn’t locate a single one. And if one existed, it must’ve broken down long since. It’s precisely the reason why we were able to infiltrate the planet so easily. Otherwise, as soon as we activated hyperdrive, we’d have a vice-admiral level fleet racing over here to terminate us. It’s a rather fortuitous situation for us, actually.” He struggled to suppress the inaudible quaver at the end of his words, conjured up by a queasy churning of his stomach. Hyperdrive didn’t agree with him; even with the stabilizing effect of the acclimation chambers, which changed specific components of his body to adapt to foreign conditions, the tremendous speed that hyperdrive provided made the entire experience something vile each time. When they hurtled towards Imago, he could feel every fiber of his body being stretched like taffy, his skin receding from his bones. Even though the trip was only twenty minutes, it seemed to crawl past as gradually as an eternity. 

“Please don’t talk about such scary things, Captain!” Bepo cried out, buckets of sweat tinged white with sunblock trickling down his face. Despite the extensive precautions he took against the sun, his skin still reddened, dry flakes of skin peeling off his arms. It reminded Law vaguely of a lobster- one that he had seen on Capital holiday specials, with scarlet skin and buttered claws. “Just the talk of vice-admirals gives me the shivers.”

“Perhaps they would’ve blown up the ship,” Law mused, seemingly oblivious to Bepo’s distress. “I wonder how our entrails would appear from below. Would they twine together to weave a tapestry?”

“That’s creepy!” Penguin and Shachi cried out simultaneously, whacking their captain lightly on the shoulder. “Don’t talk about such morbid things!”

“You two!” Bepo growled, seizing them easily with two arms, hands clamping down like a vice on their waists. “Don’t talk to the captain like that!” They yelped as he wrestled them to the ground, tumbling in a heap. Clouds of dust rose up as an undignified scuffle broke out between them, strings of colorful curses zinging through the air.

Jean Bart watched them with something resembling mild horror. “You three are being ridiculous,” Jean Bart scolded them in a gruff tone, stepping forward and cracking his knuckles in preparation to end the petty fight. He was interrupted as a heavy hand fell upon his shoulder.

“Just ignore them,” Law sighed, a shade of weariness entering his voice. “It’s best not to acknowledge such foolishness.”

“But Captain-!” he began, only for his protests to wither in his throat at the pointed look Law shot him. He sealed his mouth shut, feeling a twinge of embarrassment when the skirmish devolved into a wimpy slap fight, indignant screeches and pained squeals reverberating through the air as each palm struck their mark. The fight ended as soon as it began, leaving all parties involved on the floor panting, their bodies drizzled with sweat. He approached them consecutively, hoisting each and every one of them up onto their feet. “Never knew that my crewmates would make such good sopranos,” he remarked dryly. “Or that they should all be wearing a pair of stilettos.” They glared at him blearily, flipping him off in unison. Jean Bart rolled his eyes exasperatedly. 

Law watched them from afar and beckoned them, crooking a long, sinuous finger. Jean Bart nudged them forward lightly, and they groused as they trudged forward, dragging their feet through the sand.   
For about an hour, they circled the wall, searching for an entrance. They covered at least half a hemisphere of the wall before they collapsed in exhaustion, swallowing gulps of air that seared their lungs. “Are you sure that this is the only city on the entire planet?” Shachi whined, fanning himself with his hat. His boiler suit was already unzipped and shucked off his shoulders, exposing his pale skin to the blazing suns. “It’s way too hot here for us to function.”

“I have to agree,” Jean Bart grumbled, skin shining bronze. He too was in a similar state of undress, and his brawny arms were already forming a layer of an alarming red. “This is miserable. But we scanned the planet at least three times. And unless if our scanner is wrong, then this is actually the only place that sustains life on the entire planet.”

“Couldn’t we just find a clearing and land within the city?” Shachi moaned, and the action felt like grating sandpaper against his already parched throat. 

“Are you an idiot?” Penguin tossed out, sprawled on his back across the desert floor like a starfish they had once seen in a Capital picture book. “This is the Grand Line stronghold for the Marines. If we just fly in there with a clearly unlicensed starship, what do you think will prevent them from sending us to the chopping blocks in Enies Lobby? Or maybe they’ll just keep us here and do whatever it is that they do here. And I’m not exactly eager to test out whether or not the rumor that they perform human experiments here is true.” He sneezed as a stale gust of wind brought a surge of sand particles into his nose.

“That reminds me,” Bepo muttered, voice reedy and thin from thirst. “Captain, why did the Marines choose this planet to be their stronghold? It doesn’t make any sense.” Out of all of them, Bepo was the worst off. Already afflicted with skin that was extremely sensitive to the elements, he also had a thick coating of body hair covering almost every surface of his body, trapping the stifling desert heat and allowing it to cling to his body. He seemed to wilt, his entire body sagging with the weight of his own body and the additional sweat.

Law glimpsed at him beneath the lowered brim of his hat, leaning against the wall. He was the only one who hadn’t stripped off any of his clothing, and they noted- with a bit of envy- that he didn’t seem to be sweating copiously like the rest of them were. “While this truly is a desolate planet, and seems more inclined to be a dud rather than a Marine stronghold, it actually was a very clever strategic move on their part,” he explained, eyes gliding over his surroundings. “If you actually look at the location, you’ll notice that it’s the only planet that completely surveys the entire Grand Line. It allows them to watch all the planets and for them to send soldiers to any planet where something they don’t like is occurring.” Bepo mulled it over, nodding in newfound understanding. Law spared them a glance, observing their limp forms. He stooped low, unbuckling his medical bag. He tossed a leather pouch at Penguin, and he caught it, the water sloshing around as he fumbled with it for a moment. “Take it,” he ordered coolly. “I don’t need any of you dying of dehydration.” Penguin sent him a grateful look as he unscrewed the cap frantically, tipping his head back and taking a deep, refreshing swig of water, swatting away the flailing hands trying to swipe it from his hands. As soon as he was finished, it was snatched from his hands, and they spent the next couple of moments emptying the bottle, saving only a small puddle of water at the bottom for their Captain. Penguin handed it back to them, and Law glanced at the contents, arching an eyebrow. “Well, you guys certainly left a lot for the future, didn’t you?” They flushed, and Penguin felt the extreme urge to bury his head in the sand.

Jean Bart massaged his temples, which had gradually developed a throbbing ache. A dusting of pink was still sprinkled across his cheeks. “Are you done trying to make us feel guilty? Because, to be frank, I’m more interested in how much farther the gate is from here. Besides, when we get there, we can get more water, so we really don’t need to save up.”

Bepo immediately jerked up, bristling. “Don’t talk to the captain like that, you newcomer!”

Law smirked, crossing his arms. “Alright. You got me on that account.” He chuckled, his eyes darting over to an indistinct spot in the horizon. “Admittedly, I was just trying to make you guys feel guilty. It’s too much fun to mess with you guys.” 

All of them, save for Bepo, stared at Law blankly. “Are you even serious?” they asked simultaneously. They only stopped when their eyes began to water when a stray gust of wind carried a swarm of sand particles to their eyes.

“All of you suck!” Bepo growled, “Do none of you feel any respect towards-“ He was cut short as Shachi, grinning cheekily, pinched both his cheeks and squished them together.

“Oh, come off it, Bepo!” Shachi snickered, only letting up as soon as Bepo’s struggling became more frantic. He patted him on the back consolingly, the mischievous smile still in place as Bepo rubbed his cheeks, whimpering in pain. “It’s no big deal.”

“In any case,” Law began, pointedly ignoring both of them. “Penguin, can you recall how much farther the entrance is?”

Penguin sat up, pursing his lips in thought. “I’m not sure on the downright specifics of it, but I’d guess that it’d only take ten more minutes to walk there.” He leaned back nonchalantly, dodging a frantic Shachi who was scrambling away from an incensed Bepo, who was currently making a mad leap to try and throttle him. He sighed. “I know we’ve been walking for a while, but I still can’t help but feel that we parked the ship too close to the city. If things go sour, it’s just a sitting duck.”

 

“Oh yeah,” Bepo said, currently seated upon the back of a wheezing Shachi, who was struggling to escape the heavy weight pressing down upon him. “Why didn’t we leave someone on the ship?”

“Are you nuts?” Jean Bart asked, but there was no malice in his tone. He lifted himself up, shaking off the looser clumps of sand from the folds of his clothes. “And lug all the materials back to them? They’d die of some sort of heatstroke. Besides, they wouldn’t be able to defend it properly. It’s so bright here that I can barely see two feet in front of me.” Shachi, with a heaving grunt, managed to complete an awkward pushup. It unbalanced Bepo enough that he managed to roll out from beneath him. As soon as he was safely situated, he tapped his sunglasses, grinning wildly. 

“Smartass,” Penguin snorted, standing up and fanning himself with his floppy hat. “In any case, we should probably be heading out. There’s no point in just lying around here.” He shrugged expressively. “Who knows? Maybe they’ll have air conditioning and some drinks. I’m parched.”

Law arched an inquisitive eyebrow. “So you guys are done resting? ‘Cause in that case, I’m heading out.” He spun around, striding forward in the rippling heat of the atmosphere. Jean Bart and Penguin trailed closely behind him. Bepo squinted after them, but his eyes watered as the heat made it feel like the fluid in them were boiling. Shachi wordlessly slipped his shades off his face and eased them onto Bepo’s, the little nosepiece hanging on the tip of his nose precariously. He clapped him on the back, smiling. “Let’s go, big guy.” Bepo nodded, and they sprinted after the others, leaving behind elongated trails of sand that faded away in an instant.

 

“We can enter through there,” Penguin announced, pointing forward. There, nestled between the white, shining walls stood a gleaming golden gate, glittering each time a direct ray of sun collided with the surface. Something about its extravagant regality made them that much more aware of their current state; sweaty, eyes still crusted with sleep that they hadn’t had time to wipe away, and skin that felt like it would shrivel up like a raisin if they stayed any longer in the suns. Instantly, their mood plummeted. 

Bepo sighed resignedly. “I suppose that’ll work. A back entrance would’ve been better, but…” he let the sentence trail off. They all knew what he meant. They always tried to enter through a back entrance whenever they could; to enter through the main gates, no matter how convenient, always made them that much more conspicuous, heralding them unwanted attention. 

“It’ll do,” Jean Bart grunted, heading towards the gate. 

“Don’t order us around like you’re the Captain!” Bepo growled, but it was perfunctory at best.

They followed behind him, taking a bit of solace in the relief that the shade of his shadow provided. Before long, they stood in front of the golden gates. “Is it locked?” Penguin murmured, sliding a tongue over cracked lips. Law sent him a disapproving glance, and Penguin had to forcibly restrain the sudden, snapping remark that he almost blurted out. It was always a fiercely contested issue between them; he would run his tongue over his lips as an involuntary habit that he never managed to stem, and Law would always scold him for it, citing the fact that the enzymes in his saliva would further dry his lips. Penguin knew this, and frankly, he couldn’t find it in himself to give a damn at the moment. It was ungodly hot, and he didn’t think he’d be able to withstand his captain’s nagging, no matter how good-natured it was meant to be. The gate loomed before them, and it suddenly seemed much more impressive up-close. The monolithic structure towered over them, silent and condemning, accusing in a way that they felt an irrational trickle of ice dripping down their spinal cords. It was a much bigger gate than they had ever seen before, used to the ramshackle gates that had been sloppily hashed together with flimsy bits of plywood and plaster that they usually found in the cities of the Grand Line.

“Doesn’t look it,” Shachi inspected it closely, gaze panning across the expanse of gold. His eyes sparked as he spotted something, and he eagerly pointed it out. “Hey guys-check this out!”

It was a small device, with three grooves on the front of it for speaking and listening. Below it, there were several buttons and levers. A long antenna protruded from the top. “A stationary telecommunicator?” Bepo’s brows furrowed in confusion, and he scrutinized it critically. 

“What’s so weird about it, Bepo?” Shachi asked, entranced with the distorted reflection of him that its golden surface provided. He amused himself temporarily with making different facial expressions into the makeshift mirror, smiling a bit as they contorted goofily. “It doesn’t seem that different from a regular telecommunicator to me.”

“As I said before, it’s a stationary telecommunicator,” he explained, ushering forth the others to examine it more closely. “It’s rather old fashioned. The first stationary telecommunicators were created decades ago, and they were only installed on a widespread scale within the Capital. Nowadays, the Capital has switched them out for the mobile telecommunicators that we have today.”

“So in other words,” Jean Bart concluded, “the technology here wasn’t updated for many years.”

Bepo nodded. “Exactly. It’s weird, though.” He began chewing his lip as several thoughts turned themselves over in his head. He ran a finger over the surface of the telecommunicator, accumulating a thick coating of dust on its tip. “It makes no sense, though. They obviously have a lot of money, considering the amount of gold that they decided to use just for the gates. So, if they’re a Marine stronghold, why wouldn’t they have gotten some new technology?”

Law smirked, the corners of his lips curling up. “This little sleuthing session has been quite productive. We’ve figured out some very important information.”

“Namely…?” Penguin prompted, hitching an eyebrow expectantly. 

Law studied the keypad for a moment, searching for a contact guide. “If their equipment hasn’t been updated in such a long time, then there’s only one reasonable explanation.” He frowned when he realized when he couldn’t find it, fingers running absentmindedly over the weathered surface, tracing out the thin grooves formed by countless years of scratching sands. “None of the Admirals have been here for years.”

“Why that necessarily?” Penguin questioned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It could just mean that the Marine’s funding committee are filled with lazy assholes. Why isn’t that a possibility?”

Shachi clasped his hands in front of him, rocking back and forth on his heels as he thought. “Well, this place does count as a pretty good deterrent if you ask me.” He pulled off his sunglasses, finding a dry patch of his shirt to wipe away some of the smudges from the lenses. “I remember that some of the rumors about this place scared the living crap out of me. They probably figured that it’d intimidate the citizens of the Grand Line enough that no one would come here. And they were right. So you’re right on the dot about the bit of them being lazy assholes, but not on the part of them not being here. Probably. Maybe.” There was a sudden clicking sound, and they all turned around to see Penguin using his telecommunicator to take several snapshots of the area.

“Why?” Bepo asked, sending Penguin a confused look as the latter crouched low, angling the lens to snap a picture a photo of the surrounding landscape and to reduce glare. 

“Not everyday someone goes to Imago,” he answered casually, folding the device close and tucking it into one of the numerous pockets of his boiler suit. “We might as well have some proof so we can sell some of the information to some of the brokers back in Sector Twelve. Jester probably would cream her pants if she found out we had information on the notorious Imago. I kind of feel bad for her. If she knew how lax the security is around this place she probably would’ve staked it out earlier.”

“It’s to our benefit that she doesn’t know,” Law remarked conversationally, hoisting himself up on Bepo’s shoulders to get a higher vantage point of the gate. He still couldn’t find any locks. He sighed, dismounting. “But I do have to wonder the risks associated with leaking highly secretive Capital information.”

Jean Bart grinned. “Do you particularly care?”

Law smirked. “Nope. But being here does make me curious about just what does happen here.” He sent each of them a sidelong glance, eyes suddenly sharpening in thought. “This place is a Marine stronghold, after all, and should therefore contain a lot of information. Besides swiping some supplies, I do have the desire to fulfill some of our more secondary objectives…”

His crewmates turned to look at him in blatant disbelief. “Captain, you don’t mean…” Whatever they were about to say was thoroughly interrupted when the gates began to slowly swing open, the bottom edges of them plowing through the ground, displacing tons of sand in their wake. The roar of sand was deafening, but they still managed to hear quiet, human voices mumbling something indecipherable each second that the gates swung open. Bepo yelped as one of the edges smashed into his rear, knocking him down onto the ground. Everybody scrambled for cover, trying to avoid being buried beneath the heaping piles of sand that the gates were forming. Shachi, the one closest to Bepo, dragged him away by his arms, swearing profusely as Bepo’s leg got caught beneath a peak of sand that broke off the top. He yanked him to the side, freeing him, before they tumbled to the side. 

About a full minute later, the gates opened completely with a screeching clang, their hinges brushing the outer wall. The last echo rumbled through the air, quaking every particle, and there was a buzzing hum as the shaking finally died down. Huge, towering hills of sand were formed, ending in long, curving half-revolution formations that lay as a testament to both the size and movement of the gates. They shared a collective sigh of relief, observing the two people exiting the gates from behind their hiding spots. Law, Penguin, and Bepo crouched behind the small, ridging entrance that bisected the half-revolution on opposite sides, squinting through the gap, swirling particles of sand still slicing at their eyes. They peered through, and they saw two figures striding towards them. They were swathed in blue thermal suits-thick, opaque clothing stretching from head to toe that regulated the temperature within the suit in accordance to the conditions outside, shielding everything except a thin slot where the mouth was. But even then, they wore special respirators, so it was impossible to discern any of their features. What they were interested in, however, were the words that they were saying.

“This should be a quick patrol,” one of them said, the respirator lending his voice an artificial rasp. “The last assignment seemed to have gone well, and it was only about a week ago. I doubt that anything has changed.”

“Don’t let your guard down,” a gruffer voice replied, and he extracted a scanning device from his pocket, approaching one of the walls of sand. “Anything is possible. Any day, there’s a possibility of something disrupting our noble traditions. If we fail to perform our duties, then the invasion of outside barbarianism will indeed lead to the fall of our civilized society.” 

He trailed after his partner. “Hey, hey, I’m not saying that we’re not going to do our duties properly,” he lifted his hands defensively, “I swear on the Twenty Kings that I’m not. I’m just saying that it will be an easy job, is all.” 

The other man grunted in response, and on further inspection, they noticed that the device in his hands was a soil composition scanner. The man approached a pile of sand, pulling out a compartment from the bottom of the scanner and scooping a handful of sand inside. His partner quickly scrawled down whatever results the screen revealed in a notebook that he carried, and they quickly moved on, repeating the process a few more times.

“We should speed this up a notch,” the man-or a patrol guard of some sort- spoke up again, flipping his notebook closed. He faced the suns, noting their sunken positions on the horizon. By now, rich pinks and purples were smeared across the sky, with the few wisps of clouds streaked across the sky looking like they’d been dunked in grape juice. The suns blazed orange in the distance. “The gates are going to be closing soon. Sure we can open them anytime, but it still takes a long time. I don’t want to come home late for curfew.”

The gates were closing soon? A cold, opaque blanket settled over them, and it felt like icy shards of sleet were pricking every inch of their skin. What would happen to them if they closed the gates? Would they be able to live through the night? From afar, huddled beneath an outcropping of sand, Shachi and Bepo stared at them in confusion, not understanding why their crewmates looked so worried. “What’s happening?” they mouthed silently, distending the motions of their mouths to enunciate what they were saying to them with added clarity. “Did something happen?”

They didn’t notice. Penguin’s face was drained of all color, and jarring shocks of anxiety jolted through his wooden limbs. Jean Bart observed the proceedings with silence, face hardening with severity. Penguin gulped, throat bobbing painfully, rotating his head shakily to face his captain. Law still stood straight ahead, face fixed and eyes darting over his surroundings, and through the murky depths of his eyes he could tell the cogs in his brain were turning, formulating a plan as every second ticked by. The tension coiled in his muscles visibly eased, the taut line of his shoulders slackening as he let out a quiet sigh of relief. Meanwhile, Jean Bart’s grip on his arms tightened, and he glanced back at the captain, awaiting orders. They waited patiently, and each second that passed seemed like an eternity, the probability of the gates closing and something horrible happening to them growing with every wasted moment. “I have an idea,” Law declared, finally, in a whisper. “Just be sure to follow my orders.” Penguin and Jean Bart nodded furiously, quickly maneuvering themselves into a more versatile position, awaiting any possible order. Law glanced off to the side and spotted Bepo and Shachi, the outline of their forms blurry in the distorting heat. He motioned for them to be ready to run in wide, sweeping gestures, and he waited several moments until they sent back an affirming gesture that proved they understood. He turned back around, quickly calculating the two men’s positions in accordance to their own, mentally smoothing out some of the more blatant flaws with the plan. “Ready?” he mouthed at Jean Bart and Penguin, and they nodded solemnly. Alright. It was go time. Law took a deep breath, and it worked to effectively soothe his mind, as if someone rubbed a cleansing salve deep within his brain tissue. It was the best plan he had on such short notice, and it had plenty of potential errors, but it was better than nothing. 

“Hey there!” he shouted, and his crewmates jumped in surprise. “What are you guys waiting for? There are three intruders right in front of you! Come on, arrest us!” 

Are you crazy? Jean Bart screamed at Law through his eyes, but Law didn’t even spare him a wayward glance. Already his hands were drifting towards the flap of his medical bag.

The two men jerked in shock, dropping their equipment. They stared at each other for a moment, before they spun around and quickly advanced towards the exit between the two sand walls, rapidly approaching them. Law pressed himself firmly to the wall, molding every crook of his body into the sand more insistently. Penguin and Jean Bart followed suit, although they still sent questioning looks towards their captain. It was just as soon as one of the men’s heads peeked through the entrance that Law sprung into action. He lunged at the man, hand lashing out and catching hold of a loose fold of clothing. The man gasped in surprise as he was suddenly pulled aside, and his stuttering limbs flew in a wild frenzy to struggle against him. He barely managed to even start fighting back before a scalpel slashed against his throat, through the thin, almost invisible crease in his suit. Instantly, his movements ceased, his last breath dying out in a gargled choke. “What’s going on?” the second man demanded, and his form barely even emerged through the entrance before he was yanked from the other side by Jean Bart. The man flailed, but he didn’t even achieve to get in an elbow somewhere before his head was clamped firmly between two burly hands and viciously wrenched to the side, a sickening crack reverberating through the parched air as his head was twisted at an unnatural angle. Immediately, his head lolled on his shoulders, the form in Jean Bart’s eyes becoming nothing but dead weight. He flung him backwards into the sand, clapping his hands free of some of the chalky substance that coated his thermal suit. Law dragged the limp body in his arms a few meters away, before dumping him into a shallow ditch that rested there. He brushed some of the dust off his hands and on his jeans, spinning around to speed towards the rest of his crewmates. 

“Is that really the best plan that you had?” Penguin arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms expectantly.

“It was the best plan that I could come up with at the time, considering both our limited time and information,” Law retorted, wrapping the bloody scalpel with a thick wad of cloth for future sterilization. “Now get ready to go. We’re getting inside.” He turned to Bepo and Shachi, and he waved them over, gesturing for them to run through the gates with them. 

It only took a couple of seconds for them to race over to them, their faces flushed in exertion by the time they reached them. “Follow me,” Law ordered, slipping past the crack in the walls and darting through towards the gates, sticking close to the walls as to use the wall’s cloaking shadows to his advantage. He could hear his crewmate’s trailing not so far behind him, and when they finally reached the gates, Law cast a glance back at the sky. At that point, the bolder colors of the sky got toned down to something more subdued, a twilight mosaic spanning across their view. Night was quickly approaching, and Law found that none of the figures were particularly distinct in the gloom. Law grinned. Perfect. Now there was a higher chance that no one would be able to spot them.

He slipped between the gates, and they immediately dove behind a nearby building. They scanned the area for any civilians, and when they noticed none, they pressed on, navigating through the winding, narrow network of alleys that lay sprawled through the framework of the city. As the sky revolved over to night, their surroundings grew even darker, to the point that almost every single outline blended into another to form a jumbled mass of black. But that was alright; if they wanted to waste any time sightseeing, they still had all day tomorrow. But they were able to discern several things, such as that the area seemed remarkably clean. They found themselves treading cautiously, fully expecting to feel the crunch of glass or the squelch of something decaying from beneath when there really was none. The air seemed remarkably fresh as well, crisp as the air on the mountains in the Northern Sector, where the severe environment never felt even a touch of pollution. Finally, through the sight of touch, they managed to locate an area that they could rest for the night. It was a long stretch of alleyway fenced off by the outer wall of the city, a building, and a large, dense tree. There was only one opening, and even that was partially obscured by a thick fence that they managed to crawl beneath with minimal difficulty. “I think we can set up camp here,” Law declared, shrugging off his medical bag. His eyes scrolled upwards, but he was satisfied when he was unable to detect even the slightest glint of a window. 

The others sighed in relief, the weariness in their voices audible. One by one, each of them dropped their supplies, which fell to the cobblestone street with a clatter. Law suddenly remembered something, and he fished out a remote that he had pilfered from the guard’s pocket. He tossed it over to Bepo, and he could hear him fumbling with it in the darkness. “What’s this, Captain?” Bepo asked, and he traced curious fingers over each and every edge, picking apart his brain to figure out if it was something he recognized.

“I don’t know,” Law answered, fluffing his medical bag to try to make it a more comfortable pillow-a difficult task, considering that it was mostly filled with glass vials and rows of gleaming scalpels. The soft rolls of gauze did prove to provide a form of comfort, however. “I’m pretty sure that it controls the opening and closing of the gates. In any case, try to disable any possible tracking systems this thing has in the morning, okay?” 

“Alright, Captain,” Bepo replied, yawning. Law smiled fondly in the cover of darkness, curling his body up in an effort to preserve heat. He knew that Bepo was probably zonked out by now. He always was the first one of them to fall asleep, after all. He could hear Penguin shuffling to the side, grumbling sleepily. According to the agreement they made on the ship, he’d be the first one to take watch tonight. At the very least he’d get a couple winks of sleep, since their alternating shifts would allow him to wake up Jean Bart later to take up post. The rest of his crewmates dropped like flies, and he listened to each slow, heavy breaths they took, darkness creeping into the edges of his vision. He decided to abandon his bag, and he slowly crawled over to Bepo, nestling his head onto his first mate’s sternum. While the lack of a mattress left much to be desired, the plump softness of Bepo’s stomach silenced any protests mounting in his mind. And, to the faint, comforting metronome of Bepo’s heart, he let sleep engulf him.

 

“This is fucking delicious!” Shachi announced intelligently, sinking his teeth into yet another apple.

“Glad to know that,” Jean Bart rolled his eyes, “how about you announce it to the entire city? Pretty sure that whatever local enforcement they have would love to be privy to that information. Or, even better, the Marines.”

“Hey!” Shachi pouted, eyebrows scrunching together beneath his dark lenses. “I’m just saying. After all, I was totally expecting us to have nothing to eat nothing but nutrient packets, which are totally nasty.”

“We’re just telling you to be more cautious, you doofus,” Penguin sighed, flicking Shachi on the forehead. “After all, we just swiped all this food. Somebody’s bound to be looking for it.”

“That’s right!” Bepo chimed in, fiddling around with the mechanism that Law gave him. “If anyone comes looking for us, there’d be a lot of trouble.” He broke a loaf of breath in half, handing it to each of the others, save for Law. Law sat off to the side, absorbed in his own thoughts. A banana and a chunk of cheese lay beside him, untouched. Bepo felt a pang of worry, and he couldn’t help but offer a cup of coffee that he snatched off a windowsill earlier. Law declined politely, sketching an imaginary diagram in the cracks of the cobblestone street. Bepo pursed his lips, but said nothing.

He was obviously drawing up a plan in the vicinity of his mind. This place, after all, was nothing like they expected. The city seemed like it was plucked out from some sort of Capital fairytale, with all the clichés included. Rows of cheery brick buildings lined clean cobblestone paths, swept free from any dirt. Lush, well-tended gardens edged the paths, adding pops of tropical color to the general creamy tones of the city, and this idyllic scene seemed to stretch out to the very horizon. Soft music wafted from the background, and the very air itself seemed cushioned, spiced with the sweet fragrance of flowers and the warm tint of cinnamon. People milled about the streets, mingling in well-lit alleys and traipsing through the streets in orderly rows. Swishing skirts and the clacking of shoes permeated the streets, passing by in a sparse stream of people. The entire city seemed to be like this, filled with picturesque markets and idyllic neighborhoods. Even the government section in the center of the city was flourishing, and none of the activity seemed particularly malicious whatsoever.

This entire city unnerved them. There just seemed to be no flaw whatsoever; there were no drunks lurching around streets, and there wasn’t a single seedy joint to be found. Only wholesome businesses, schools, and cafés. And everybody looked like an exact clone of each other. All of the men looked almost identical to the dated images of Capital politicians that they would see in faded newspapers, and the lack of diversity was just as prevalent among the women and children. Women passed by in the same dresses marked by the same patterns, with heavily hairsprayed hair that lay in stiff, crunching ringlets that crinkled like tin and the same shade of lipstick. The children looked like carbon copies of their parents, save for the more infantile versions of their clothing. The one characteristic shared by them all was the same perpetual, disturbing smile. It was the only characteristic that all of them adamantly refused to dwell on; all of the citizens had frozen smiles carved jaggedly across their faces, and the skin around them didn’t stretch appropriately, giving off the unsettling impression that an image of a smile was superimposed over their faces. It made a shiver quake down their spines at the mere sight of it. They wanted out of here, out of this clean city that seemed to be painted with pastel hues and tempered sunshine. 

Bepo sawed off sections of a broiled chicken leg, doling out a fist-sized portion to each of them. He bit into the succulent meat, accompanying it with a slab of bread that he had slathered a block of butter on before. He glanced up at the sky, through the thick screen of foliage that the trees provided, spots of sunlight filtering through the gaps of leaves. The device now lay at his feet, forgotten. He had gotten bored with dissecting it. “What exactly are our goals?” he found himself asking. He found the others turning to face him inquisitively, and he continued. “I mean, have any of us bothered to stop and think about what our goals are? We all have individual goals, sure, but do we all have one as a group?”

There was a thoughtful pause as they let the question digest in their minds. “Well, I’m not sure if all of you were thinking this, but I’m pretty sure that none of you would be against the idea,” Shachi began tentatively, brow creased in thought.

The others looked at him in interest. “Which would be what?” Jean Bart asked, munching vacantly on his hunk of cheese.

Shachi chuckled confidently, straightening the collar of his boiler suit. “Well, with our captain’s pretty boy good looks and my inherent charm, this goal should be relatively easy to accomplish.” He sent them all a cheesy grin, one that stretched to the tips of his ears. “I say, on the behalf of all of us, that we head over to Amazon Lily and get a brigade of Amazon stripper ladies.”

“A brigade of Amazon stripper ladies?” Penguin snorted derisively. “That’s ridiculous.”

“What?” Shachi demanded, and he waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Are you trying to say that you don’t want one?”

“I-I don’t want one,” Penguin denied, but the trickle of blood streaming from his nose told a different story.

“Liar!” Shachi snickered, tugging Penguin’s hat down to completely cover his face by the flaps. “You’re the most perverted one out of all of us!”

“Am not!” Penguin growled, trying to plant a kick right in the center of Shachi’s chest. “And let me go, you shades-wearing idiot!”

“As if, bird-brain!” Shachi shot back, tying the flaps of the hat together. He laughed uproariously as Penguin struggled with the knot, using the opportunity to swipe Penguin’s share of chicken. 

“It isn’t like you two could get a girl anyway,” Bepo muttered, casting them a sidelong glance. “Both of you being so scruffy and all…”

“YOU’RE THE SCRUFFIEST ONE HERE!” Penguin and Shachi shouted back simultaneously, hackles rising. “As if you’re one to talk! You look like you’re a huge bear!”

“I’m sorry…” Bepo murmured, gazing at the floor gloomily.

“DON’T BE SO WEAK-WILLED!”

“Are all my crewmates idiots?” Jean Bart asked, bemused. “What exactly have I gotten myself into?”

“A fucking awesome crew, that’s what,” Law drawled, munching on a strawberry. Juice dribbled down the corner of his chin, and he wiped it away absently with his sleeve. “Besides, you’re going to get yourself into even worse situations starting now. I got a plan.”

“You do?” Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo asked in unison, the brawl building up between them momentarily derailed. They settled around Law in a semicircle, and they regarded their captain curiously. 

“Yep,” Law swept off the residual juice of his lips. “I want to leave this planet as soon as possible.”

“Sounds good to me,” Shachi grinned, clapping his hands. “Leaving this planet? That’s already a great start to this plan.”

“I’m guessing that you don’t like this planet either?” Bepo asked, cocking his head at a curious incline. 

“Of course not!” Shachi shivered. “I wouldn’t even touch the women on this planet with a mile-long pole.”

“And that’s already an indicator that there’s something seriously wrong here,” Penguin joked, and the others chuckled a bit. “But honestly, this place does seriously creep me out.”

“I find the people suspicious,” Jean Bart’s eyes grew hooded. “They remind me of the Marines that came to my planet so long ago…”

Bepo’s brows furrowed, before his eyes widened in sympathy. “You mean the ones that burned down your monastery?”

“Yeah. The very same.” Jean Bart’s fists clenched, to the point that his nails left crescent impressions on his palms. 

“All the better reason for us to leave as quickly as possible,” Law supplied, and he sent Jean Bart a furtive glance, face softening. “And I want to get my plan started as soon as possible, so I’m only going to inform you of the basic framework of the it. I won’t bother articulating.” He flicked some of the stray seeds into Shachi’s hair, much to the latter’s distress. 

“You expect us to just go along with a plan that we barely know anything about?” Jean Bart huffed, crossing his arms. Beside him, Shachi whined, trying to comb out the pulpy seeds out of his bangs with his fingers. “I understand that we’re pirates, but you’re being rather selfish here.”

Bepo whirled around to face Jean Bart, features fixed in a scowl. “Don’t talk that way to our captain! And if Captain comes up with a plan, it’s guaranteed to work!”

“Thank you, Bepo.” Law arched an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “And Jean Bart, I understand the sentiment that you’re trying to share. But I can’t help but think that you’re being unfair here. You could at least listen to the plan I have.”

“It’s the principle of the matter,” Jean Bart shot back, his posture strict and firm. Penguin frowned at him disapprovingly, and Shachi stuck out his tongue at the man. “The symbolism of an act can be much more important than the actual act itself.”

“Read the symbolism however you want,” Law countered testily. “It doesn’t change the fact that I’m Captain now, does it? I have the final say in all matters pertaining to the crew.”

Jean Bart fumed silently, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red. “Fine,” he snapped, tone harsh. “Go ahead. Inform us of your brilliant plan.” His words were simply dripping with sarcasm.

Law grinned spookily. “I plan to.”

 

Law surveyed the vicinity from his vantage point on top of a building, scoping it out for any lingering civilians. After a careful scrutiny, he was satisfied to assure himself that there were none. The circular courtyard was ringed by a low stone wall with a smaller concentric circle of buildings within it. A single large tree lay at the very center, rustling with every errant gust of wind. But he only had eyes for the library that sat across from him, completely empty. He had meticulously planned this out, accounting for every detail; scheduling the heist on a day where all the citizens had to go to a universal inspection that was conducted at the main government building, even the children. All the streets were empty, ensuring a guaranteed easy job. And, from what he could tell, there were no security cameras rigged anywhere either. It was almost too easy.

He stood up from where he’d previously been crouching, emerging above the fortifications bordering the top of the building. He leaped down onto the hood of a dumpster, a low metallic clanging echoing through the empty space at the impact. He skipped down from there to the ground, racing over to the library with his body low to the ground. He reached the building, and he peered through it, his breath fogging the glass. He spied long, lacquered rows of shelves replete with books, a plush armchair resting invitingly in the center. But there, he spied his true objective; a sleek computer sitting on top of a desk in the corner of the room, cogs whirring pleasantly. Glancing to all sides, he made sure that there really was no one there before he conducted the next step in his plan. Soothed by the knowledge that there would be no witnesses, he unbuckled the clasps of his medical bag, extracting an enlarged compass. He turned it over in his hand appreciatively, a knife attached to one end, with the other end meant for balance. He dug the tip into the glass, using the blade on the other end to saw in deep, trying to reduce the noise of the screeching glass. As soon as he was done, he tucked it back into his medical bag, snapping the clasps shut. A faint outline of a circle was engraved on the window, barely distinguishable from the rest of the glass unless if you really observed it closely. He applied a light pressure to the circle with the pads of his fingers, and the glass popped free with a low sucking sound. It fell to the carpet soundlessly, the spongy material of the carpet absorbing the impact. He crept through the hole, quickly making his way towards the computer.

To his delight, he noted that the monitor was still on, which meant that whoever worked here hadn’t shut down the computer before they left. Either that or it simply wasn’t a routine procedure. The security in this city was rather lax, after all. He jiggled the mouse, and the screen lit up to the desktop. Law had to stop himself for a moment, almost giddy with elation. A buoyant sense of triumph bubbled up in his chest, and he couldn’t help the huge grin that stretched across his face. Finally… this would be the culmination of their months of searching! He clicked on a filing application, and a huge database appeared on the screen. There were several tabs splayed across the top of the screen, all of them relating to places, people, and organizations, some of which he didn’t even recognize. A search box lay hidden in the corner. He clicked on it, and he typed in the only information that he knew about the person he was looking for: The Cold Sniper. He wasn’t sure if the moniker would herald anything substantial, but a result did appear. Hardly believing his luck, he clicked on it, and a profile appeared. Much of it was blank, even lacking a profile picture. He scrolled through the file, but much of it was the same, with question marks showing up instead of actual information. He did manage to scrounge up one single piece of pertinent information, however. The name. Sven Markhov. He flipped open a notebook, quickly scrawling down the name across the pages. Snapping it closed, he shoved the notebook into his medical bag and made his way back to the hole. He slipped out, slathering a line of glue across the edges of the circle. He carefully eased it back in, swiping off some of the glue that oozed out between the cracks. It was a sloppy job, but hopefully it would be good enough to buy them at least a little bit of time to allow them to escape.

With the reassuring thump of his medical bag swinging against his legs, he rushed out of the courtyard, making his way to the gates where his crewmates were waiting. The soles of his shoes slapped against the pavement, and his surroundings passed by him in a blur. About two blocks away from the gates, he stumbled to a stop, reclining against the wall. He panted heavily, chest heaving with exertion. He had to take a break. He fished out his telecommunicator, dialing a number that had long since been memorized. “Captain?” Jean Bart’s voice crackled over the receiver, and his voice was barely discernible amid the scratchy quality of the audio. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Law answered, using his sleeve to mop his forehead free of sweat. “The objective is completed. Wait there, you guys. I’m coming soon-” He interrupted himself as he spied something that had escaped his initial examination, and he felt his jaw swing shut. A door, seemingly innocuous, rested at the corner, nestled between an intersection of two outer walls. Blinking, he knuckled his eyes to make sure that what he was seeing wasn’t a mirage created by the desert heat. The door was still there as soon as the bright orbs twirling around his vision disappeared. “Jean Bart, hold on a minute,” Law muttered, but he could barely hear his own voice, gaze fixed on the wall. “I’m going to check something out.”

“Captain!?” Jean Bart’s voice rang out incredulously, his tone washed in an almost frantic panic. “Captain, what in the hell do you think you’re doing!? Captain! Captain, answer me!” Law opened to assuage the fears of his fretting crewmate, but then the memory of Jean Bart’s disobedience flickered through his mind’s eye. “Answer me!” Jean Bart roared over the receiver, with enough force that the resonance of his voice caused the device to vibrate in his palm. “Are you alright? Law!” Feeling a vindictive spike of pleasure, Law flicked the telecommunicator off, stuffing it within his medical bag. Once again, he scrutinized the door, assessing it with strict, analyzing eyes. It didn’t seem to be particularly remarkable, save for the fact that it seemed to be constructed from sturdy steel. There were no complex locks, instead it had a sliding mechanism that the public restroom stalls that more wealthy cities would have. Why would anyone need a door to access a wall? Was it for patch-up jobs? “How weird,” Law murmured, undoing the latch. “It’s like no one really cares if anyone enters. Anyone could open this door.” His hand instinctively grasped a scalpel, and with a stream of fleeting anticipation drifting through him, he opened the door and headed in. 

The first thing that struck him was the smell. He staggered, clapping a hand over his nose, gagging at the immediacy of it. His stomach churned in revulsion at the rancid stench, and he could feel bile clawing up his throat. It stunk of human waste and rotting matter, and he could feel his eyes burning as the odor rose to meet his face. After several moments, when his initial nausea subsided to something significantly more manageable, he glanced up. And he promptly felt every fiber of his body freeze. In the dim, filthy light, he saw something that he never would’ve expected. Shriveled cadavers littered the area, parts of them buried beneath heaps of trash that towered above. Bleached bones gaped at him from where the meat had been scavenged off the flesh, and all of their faces seemed to be twisted in eternal agony. The few corpses that had any skin remaining were horribly emaciated, their wizened limbs resembling a gnarled root than anything that should’ve been connected to a human. He swept his gaze around the vicinity, and in the scarce dim bands of light that stretched foggily to the floor, he realized that that was all there was; corpses, sprawled and toppled over each other to form towering heaps that rivaled the mountains of trash that surrounded them, limbs distorted and twisted at grotesque angles. Law turned back to the door, practically bolting over to the door, where the outside beamed at him, sunny and inviting and not a place filled with desecrated corpses and- he heard voices talking, streams of civilians trickling through the double doors of all the buildings. Law gawked at them, and, with bunched limbs jerky with sudden panic, he pulled the door shut, the click echoing through the dark space around them. 

He cursed softly under his breath, the murmur of the outside crowd leaking through to him as if he were submerged beneath water. He pinched the bridge of his nose, temples throbbing. I must’ve spent more time getting back here than I thought, he grumbled to himself, Shit. Now there’s basically no chance of me getting out through this door without being seen, is there? His grasp stuttering on the handle, he sighed deeply, his hand retreating from his spot. Cautiously, he backtracked a bit, turning around. Looks like he’d have to find a spot in here where he had some connection. Using the faint bands of sunlight filtering through the few cracks in the ceiling, he maneuvered himself through the high piles of bodies, squinting at the screen of his telecommunicator. But no bars lit up in the corner, and with a scowl, he shoved it back inside his bag. What type of place had no telecommunicator connection? The connection worked perfectly fine outside of the wall! He resisted the almost juvenile urge to stomp his foot, instead screwing his expression into something sour and pinched. Now that he thought about it, what was this place exactly?

He turned around, studying his surroundings in case anything changed. Nothing did. All that lay behind were rotting corpses with sunken eyes, skin pulled back on their faces to reveal the contours of their skull. Their ribs protruded painfully from their chests, looking like they’d knife through the skin at any given moment. For whatever reason, it seemed like the wall was hollow, used to trap these people inside within its confines, given nothing for sustenance but rotten bits of food in the trash that they dumped in here. They didn’t even have the comfort of the sky, since the ceiling was walled off as well, save for a few thin cracks that allowed weak beams of sunlight to trickle through. This place is a jail cell, Law thought to himself, examining all the dead that lay strewn about, some heaped contemptuously across each other beside mountains of trash. Up above, he finally noticed some chutes, which must’ve been connected to the city dump, attached to the ceiling, too high up for anyone to crawl to- although many had obviously attempted it, considering the long, stagnant stripes of blood that ran up the wall, chunks of fingernails still embedded within loose crevices of gold. The ground beneath him was colder than rock and harder than steel, and the air within here reeked of the dead. No, Law amended, feeling a rare pang of pity strike a chord deep within him. This place is a tomb. A cluster of rats squeaked as they scurried around his feet, and Law made a disgusted noise, delivering a hard kick to send one flying across the enclosed space. “But then what is the purpose of this place in the first place?” he mused, examining a prone figure jutting out from one of the piles. Law scrutinized the form for a long moment, taking in the long, scraggly hair wilting off their head, the tatters that they wore, and the thick, obtrusive calluses that developed on the soles of their feet. And then he spied a small notepad peeking out from beneath a slit in her clothes. He hitched his eyebrows. “Well, maybe I’ll find out.”

Feeling only the smallest iota of shame for grave-robbing- I’m merely studying the artifacts of history for later generations, he justified to himself, snorting, he flipped the little book open, using his telecommunicator as a source of light. He squinted, skimming the smudged passages that looked like they were scribbled with a blunt piece of charcoal. Sighing, he found a relatively clean spot on the ground, reclining against the wall. Pursing his lips, he studied the text more carefully, finally finding a section of writing that was leagues more legible than the rest of the pages. “It’s been a long time since I remembered what today was,” he read aloud, sliding a finger against the length of his tongue to leaf through the pages more easily. “Time’s borders have becoming increasingly blurred, indistinct and melting together until a second could be a week. Or a month. Actually, I really don’t know how long we’ve been in this place.” Law’s brows furrowed, and his fingers faltered for a brief moment before he hastily shook his head, turning the page. “But we must’ve been in here for a long time, considering that most of us are already dead. I had to bury my little sister today. She caught something from the sewage, and her skin turned completely green before she died. I had to fight someone, and I lost two fingers in the scuffle, but it was worth it, considering that I managed to bury her beside my parents. She was the only person I had left.” Law’s eyes narrowed, eyeing the dead forms. Their sockets glowered at him accusingly-condemningly, their wrists crooked at ghastly angles in a vague gesture of reaching out to him, frail fingers looking ready to clutch any part of him that they could grab. He sneered at them, but he nonetheless clamped his mouth shut, not uttering a single line more as he resumed his reading. It was too disrespectful for the girl. Brushing an errant clump of hair to join the other tufts behind her ear, he gazed at the girl for a moment, eyes softening considerably. He then averted his gaze, continuing to read.

Chances are that I’ll die soon. Those blasted bastards no longer toss anything edible out in the trash. They must get a kick out of making animals out of us, they must delight at the mere prospect of making us claw out each other’s eyes for the slim chance of nibbling a piece of paper. Perhaps they installed cameras in here somewhere. I wouldn’t put it past them. They probably masturbate to the sight of making us subhuman. I hate this. There’s literally nothing more that I would give to see just a slim slice of sky at least one more time. To take a euphoric whiff of clear, fresh air. Law had to struggle the rest of the words, seeing as how the words blurred together, saturated with liquid droplets from a time long past. It took him a long moment, but Law startled somewhat when he realized that they were tears. If only that drought didn’t happen. If only those Capital fanatics didn’t come here and make a requirement list of the only people allowed to live. If only the citizens decided not to listen to them and stick all of us ‘imperfect people’ in here to die. The realization struck Law with all the force of a sledgehammer, icy pinpricks replacing all the blood in his veins. 

With stuttering hands, he shoved the notepad away, drawing his knees to his chest and burying his face in the crevice between them. So that’s what happened here, Law thought to himself hysterically, heart beating so hard and fast that he felt the organ bruising his ribcage, vision growing fuzzy at the edges. Dozens of images of Capital propaganda flashed through his mind’s eye, of school pamphlets depicting vague, faceless Capital citizens as deities, of posters instructing the native to preen and primp until they looked like their ‘superior Capital overlords’… The identical faces of the residents of the planet suddenly gained a much more sinister edge, faces darkening a shade while their frozen, artificial smiles leered at him coldly, without a single tinge of sympathy. So that’s why everyone looks alike, Law thought to himself, his grasp on his knees tightening. And why nobody over the age of forty lives here. He reread the pages desperately, but all he found were more pages spewing the same hysteria, the handwriting devolving into barely legible, violent slashes. They must’ve tossed everyone who didn’t fit their ideal, impossible image here, into this hellhole. The horrific image of his crewmates-bodies rotten and emaciated, faces warped with immeasurable agony- flickered through his mind, and Law gagged, feeling his stomach trying to force itself up the tunnel of his throat. Tears dotting his eyes, he staggered to his feet, his joints stiff and brittle. He yanked his telecommunicator out from his bag, fingers flying frantically across the dials to call a number that’s long been engraved into his memory.

It rang only once before a voice roared at him from the other line. “Law!” Jean Bart roared, throaty and tight with rage, and Law could feel some of the warmth seeping back into his blood, vision balancing out from its previous too-high quality, crystallized view. “How dare you just call back like this? After you left m- ah, I mean, Penguin, Shachi, and Bepo worried sick!? Do you know just what we were think-”

“Jean Bart,” Law breathed, voice thick and shaky. “I need you to do something for me. Please.”

Jean Bart stopped, detecting the quaver in his Captain’s voice. He could hear a deep exhale, and Law could almost see his crewmate palming his forehead in exasperation. The image served to make the corners of Law’s lips quirk up in fond amusement, affection crinkling the skin near his eyes. “Sure,” the voice sounded tired, resigned. “What is it that you want us to do?”

Law’s voice steadied, hardening to something tangible, something solid enough to pluck out of the air. “Get to the Mendota. Get to it and track down my coordinates. And then- listen carefully- I want you to fire up the optic blasters and I want you to tear down the wall that I’m inside of. No-never mind, I want you to disintegrate it.”

A subdued, resigned voice-not necessarily combative, just inquisitive-asked, “What about security? Isn’t there going to be-”

“Never mind the security,” Law snapped, tone clipped with irritation. “The security here is practically nonexistent anyway. Just… do it, okay?” Without another word, Law cut the line, and the telecommunicator died with a screeching whine. He sighed, readjusting the hat perched on the crown of his head. He knew Jean Bart would be on his case for that. He’d undoubtedly get an earful for that little stunt he pulled there. He shrugged, a small smile fanning out across his lips. Now he just needed to wait. Refusing to just sit still and stay idle, he whiled away the passage of time by arranging the bodies in a more dignified fashion, laying them side by side in orderly, consistent rows. He attempted a clinical approach to the entire procedure, but an irrepressible pang of pity rippled through his nerves, softening his typically harsh touches to something tenuous, a gentle brush of fleeting gossamer across ragged expanses of skeletal frames. The gentle sweep of his fingers lingered for a moment longer on the woman who he took the journal from, and with deliberate softness, he clasped her hands together in a significantly more demure fashion, scraggly hair splayed in a fashion that accentuated her face. “I’m honestly sorry that this happened to you,” he murmured, dragging a hand down her face to slide her eyes shut. Vaguely, he wondered if he had possibly seen her family. By dissembling the stacks of bodies, had he possibly exhumed their remains? Letting out a sound of indifference, he reclined against the wall, shrugging loosely. Whatever. He had already gone out of his way for these people. He wasn’t going to be bothered to stray from his original plan more than he had to. Snapping a couple choice images of the area, saving the pictures into the most confidential area on his telecommunicator before pocketing it. There was nothing more damning than incriminating evidence, after all. 

The interval of time stretched and lengthened, stretching out like a string until it pulled taut, the air compressed and thick as liquid amber. Slanted shafts of light shifted to new positions, both of them occasionally intersection to form a foggy x of light. And, that’s when he heard it; something like sounded like the distant, angry buzzing of a swarm of bees, and Law stood up, muscles bunched up in anticipation. 

Eventually, with a great whooshing sound accompanied by a shrill whistle of air, he heard his ship arrive, jets of pressurized air blasting at the sand and forming a swirling tundra of sand particles. And he heard the resounding, tinny echo of the optic blasters heating up, and he only had a scant second to prepare before a circular beam of energy blasted through the wall with a high pitched screech, blaring through the vicinity as it disintegrated the wall in a matter of nanoseconds. He nonchalantly tipped his head to the side, dodging ricocheting bits of rubble that pelted the area beside his head. Tons of dust floated through the atmosphere, choking the air as melted gold dripped off the edges of the area of impact, pooling at the floor. “Took you guys long enough to get here!” he called out, and the entrance to the obnoxiously bright yellow starship slid up with a hiss. 

“Well we’re sorry that setting up the engines and optic blasters takes some time!” Penguin called out, hands on his hips. A huge scowl was slapped across his face. Oh, great, Law rolled his eyes internally, spying the equally sour look on Shachi’s face, Jean Bart must’ve put me on speakerphone before. The bastard.

“Save your belly-aching for someone who cares,” Law retorted, climbing up the set of retractable steps that led to the entrance. He patted the hood of his ship fondly, and he could almost imagine a smile in the thump that the ship replied with. Although it was absurd, sometimes he couldn’t help but imagine that his ship had a soul. He climbed in, and Penguin shut the entrance behind him. 

“Any other orders, Lawlypop?” Shachi drawled, crossing his arms expectantly. 

Law rolled his eyes expressively at the much-detested nickname, highly aware of the scathingly sarcastic undertone in his crewmate’s voice. “We get out of here. We already got all our supplies and completed our repairs, so all we have to do is haul ass and leave this planet for good.” He turned around, heading towards the cockpit. He needed to talk with Jean Bart. “Oh, by the way,” he added offhandedly, “I want us to reduce the city into a charred smear across the sand. Of course, we’ll exclude grocery stores, hospitals, and nurseries from our wrath, but I still want us to send out a message.”

Penguin and Shachi simultaneously did a double take, jaw dropping somewhere in the general area of his chest. “What brought this on exactly?” Penguin asked, and he got his answer a second later when a telecommunicator was tossed right to him, and he fumbled with it for a moment, bewildered. 

“Check out the hard drive on that telecommunicator,” Law replied, right before swinging around the corner. “If that doesn’t convince you that this place is an utter hellhole, then nothing will.” He disappeared, the clacking of his high heels resounding across the linoleum as he made his way over to Jean Bart.

Shachi and Penguin stared at each other, perplexed, before they shrugged. They opened up the hard drive, examining the images developing on the screen. Immediately, as soon as they recognized what they saw, Shachi grew white, knees buckling while Penguin raced over to a trash bin, gagging. He dry heaved over the rim, and it felt like his entire stomach was trying to force itself through the narrow tunnel of his throat. “Well,” Shachi laughed shakily, clutching his throbbing chest. “That would explain things.”

 

There was something oddly disappointing about hindsight. Law and the rest of the Heart Pirates stared outside the window, watching as the small blue orb known as Imago, wreathed in space, became smaller and smaller as the distance increased. They had already conducted their dose of mayhem; the city was left a demolished wreck, most of the buildings leveled down to the ground in smoldering husks. They all felt a collective burst of malicious glee billowing through their guts, as terrified shrieks exploded from the city, dark clouds of smoke pumping to the atmosphere, marring the sky with black. They watched the proceedings in solemn silence. “What are we going to do now?” Jean Bart asked, breaking the silence. Rotating their heads, they turned to face Law, who was twirling a scalpel between his fingers. 

“Simple,” Law replied, tossing it up into the air before snatching it, movements a lightning-fast blur. “We go to Jester and pick up Ban and Wakame. In the distance, the last shred of Imago vanished into a blip of stars. A leaden weight that they didn’t even know floated off their chests. “Besides, we still have to pay Mr. Cold Sniper a visit.”

 

Author’s Note: First of all, sorry this came so late! I was really busy, and I was extremely dissatisfied with this chapter, so I kept on rewriting this again and again. I’m still unhappy with this chapter, but I decided to use this train wreck as an attempt at writing emotion, which I’m not very good at. 

And I’m so, so sorry for this chapter, but I really needed to get this out of the way. I’m extremely bad at beginnings.

On another note, the next chapter… oh yes, that’s when I’m getting into my groove. That’s more of an adventure, action-y chapter, and action scenes are my forte. So, as you can believe, I’m extremely excited to be writing the next chapter, which is when they basically get assigned their first mission in this story.


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